He hummed to himself, sitting on the bench that was in the cell. He looked around for a moment, peering into the cell adjacent to him.
Private with The Abysswalker
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Elizabeth gets her bag ready at the airport, preparing to board the FBI jet.
The officers were smart enough to put only one person beside of him, and that poor soul was so high from drugs that he didn't know which way is up.
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He hums softly, rocking his head from side to side, laughing softly to himself.
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Once the plane has been fueled up, Elizabeth and her team walk out onto the tarmac to board the jet.
The booking officers shudder as the man laughs, as they standing within earshot to hear anything that might go on in the cells, though usually the collars are pretty quiet around each other.
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"Oh, do I scare you?" He asks, walking up to the bars, leering out at them. "I don't bite... much."
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The group doesn't respond to him, purely there to keep an eye on him to make sure that he doesn't try anything.
(Hey I just wanted to let you know that my work schedule is really spazy, so usually when I come home I am uber tired and not worth much.)
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He pouts slightly when they don't react. "{ah, you guys are no fun. It'd be fun to paint the walls red, don't you think?" He asks, tilting his head off to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face.
(That's fine, and I do apologize about taking so long to reply, been job hunting and packing things lately.)
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(I totally understand. Job hunting is a grueling process.)
One of the female officers glances over in his direction for a couple of seconds before looking away and biting the inside of her lip in disgust.
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"Don't like me sugar? Well, most don't, so you don't make much of a difference." He says with a snort.
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One of her fellow officers, a male spins around, hearing the villans words, "No, she doesn't like you. Believe it or not, most cops don't much like people who kill for fun," He snarls at the criminal, stepping up close enough to have the only thing between the men be the bars of the cell.
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"Ah, ah, ah, careful." He says, quickly reaching through the bars and grabbing his arm and pullit back with him, snapping it against the bar.
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Instantly, the other officers pull their guns out of their holsters, as the male officer cries out in pain, pulling back from the evil man who just injured him. "Call a bus," He orders and one of the women nods, pulling out her cell phone to call for an ambulance.
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"Oh, it's just a broken arm, you'll be fine. Oh wait, you won't. I snapped it at the elbow, have fun with the hospital." He says with a mad cackle.
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The officer grimaces in pain, holding in the screams of anger and severe pain. "You... You belong- in a mental institute," He manages as he hears the sirens of the ambulance nearing the precinct.
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"Eh, I suppose, but where would there be the fun in that? It'd make more work for the janitor. The walls would keep on getting stained red." He says simply.
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The men scoff and leave a guard to watch the prisoner as they take their comrade to the paramedics.
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He snorts with a chuckle, laying back on the hard bench seat, his hands folded on his chest. "You think anyone would try and sabotage my funeral?"
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The guard rolls his eyes before returning to his emotionless, stone expression of nothingness. He would not let this man taunt him. Previously he was a prison guard, letting prisoners get under your skin meant they had you before you knew it.
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He hummed a quiet tune to himself, his head rocking from side to side.
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The guard contently watches him, his face still emotionless and perfectly still.